Asserting that something didn't happen is a test smell. There are an infinite number of things the test subject should not do. This code should not throw an exception. It should also not create a file. Nor should it make a sandwich, raise the Bat-Signal, or blow up Earth. These are all equally useless things to test for. It just doesn't give us any information to know what didn't happen.

Tests are a form of empiricism. They're science in action. In this case, the exception is a form of evidence. It's evidence that our module is behaving incorrectly. So what does it mean that we have no exception? Taking our instruction from science, it does not tell us that the module behaves correctly. The lack of exception tells us only that it doesn't appear to behave incorrectly in this specific way.

That's not necessarily useless information. But we don't write code to not do things. We write code to do things. If we explicitly need to not do a thing, that is typically because we need to do something else a little later. That something else is the thing we should test for. Not always, but often. And I would argue that in clean code, it is almost always the case.

Doing things creates output. So tests should assert on output. They should assert that the specific nature of the output correlates correctly to the specific nature of the input. In this case, exceptions are output. The lack of exception is not output. It's the lack of output. (By contrast, delegating to some dependency, writing to disk, etc. are a form of output... just indirect output from the "other side" of the module.)

Usually an output-less operation like this means our module is responsible for holding some hidden internal state, and usually that state will affect successive operations on the module. This is the output. Instead of testing that we didn't fail extravagantly at the midpoint, we should focus on testing the output of the successive operations, and ensuring they are correctly impacted by the earlier operation.

An astute reader would note that all of this is an indication of temporal coupling between the methods on the module and we should avoid the situation altogether. This is almost certainly true! But in my experience that juice is not always worth the squeeze. Sometimes that's because of the legacy of the application, and sometimes it's inherent in the problem being solved. Maybe you'll get to deal with that problem at the root someday, but let's assume it's not today. We can still walk away with a win if we write some good tests for the code in our hands today.

One of the benefits of allowing yourself to take one step is that sometimes one step is all that's needed to generate a bit of momentum. The engines of your subconscious spin up and start working on the problems connected to the little one you decided to deal with tonight. It churns itself out while you sleep or as you drive to work in the morning. And by the time you sit down to take the next step, your brain jumps to the ready, unfolding a map in clear ink before you.

Some of these next steps are also little, but occasionally they are big. You'll be surprised to find how much progress you can make on the reserved momentum of yesterday's push. Your brain almost always wants to think more about a thing than your conscious mind intends. By giving your brain permission to take one step, you give it wiggle room to eke out a bit more and shelve it for next time.

The best thing about taking one step is that they add up. But a close second is the occasional unexpected second crank you get out of your mental engines is often far bigger than the intentional one you sat down to make. The trick is they don't happen every time. But every step is a new chance. So make sure you're taking those little steps.

It's a natural part of pursuing a practice, whether professional or hobby, to crave the trappings of success. You want the clubs Tiger Woods uses. You want Hemingway's notebook. Michael Jordan's shoes. Neil Gaiman's fountain pen. Whether consciously or otherwise, we think of them as talismans, explaining in part where the success comes from, and how something like it might be achieved.

Some of these things are just quirks of taste for the professionals that use them. Even once you have found your own little groove, from a distance it can be still be tough to tell the difference between a tool and an affectation. Regardless which of these an accessory is, it can be problematic to place too much importance on it.

Adopting something that turns out to just be an affectation for the pro you idolize is at best a distraction that prevents you from focusing on the practice. It's a waste of time, and probably money.

Some things are clearly tools. Take Tiger Woods' clubs, for example. He can't golf without clubs, and he chooses his clubs because they help his performance. But that doesn't mean they'll help your performance.

People tend to think that professional grade tools are the tools that make professionals so good. But that's not how they work. One of the most important qualities of a pro tool is that It gets out of the way. An expert is someone who knows when to go off the map or break the rules to get the job done. And an expert's tool is one that will let them do it.

What you really want--unless you are the Tiger Woods of woodcarving, or whatever--is to remove defects from your practice. In golf, you want to hit the ball straighter. But what Tiger wants is to be able to put the ball any dang place he chooses. And for that, he doesn't want a club that's going to help him "fix his swing". He wants a club that gets out of the way to let his superior control do its thing. When his swing is "wrong", it's very likely because he means it to be, because he knows that will get the result he wants.

We all, from the freshest neophyte to the most rarefied expert, use the tools that help us reach the next level of our practice. Your next level is probably very different than that of the folks at those extremes, and the best tool for that job is different too.

Working in software, there's a tremendous pressure to keep up with new technology. Staying aware and informed is work enough without trying to actually educate yourself with any depth.

I experience the same feeling of pressure when I consider the possibility of staying informed on current events and politics. Likewise with the idea of keeping on top of my backlog of books, movies, video games, blogs, TV, comics, and podcasts. And then there's Twitter!

Realistically, I know that this torrent of content is something I will never be able to consume. I might as well lie down pointed upstream in a river and open my mouth. I try to be picky, but the filtering alone is a not insignificant time commitment.

Keeping up, even with the fun stuff, can feel like a job. An obligation. Maybe this turns you off of the whole enterprise. Or maybe it just makes you dig in and rededicate yourself. Curate the backlog, and then set aside time every day or two to dig through it. Now it really is a job, but at least you're making progress. Heaven forbid you actually want to digest any of it with any care.

There are two primary reasons I eat food: for fuel or for enjoyment. I take in media for these same reasons. Neither of these things happen if my focus while I slog through a pile of content is the modest goal of "making progress". Instead, it just washes over me until it's past, and I mark it done and move on to the next thing. Learning and satisfaction will be minimal.

It's important to maintain perspective on why you're working through a particular piece of media, and make sure that you're not abandoning that purpose for the goal of getting to the next thing. If you're reading a book to learn, then take the time to ruminate and let it put a dent in your thinking. If you're watching a show or playing a game for enjoyment, then savor it.

Don't just chug down bytes and rush on to the next thing. As a matter of the value of your time, you'd be infinitely better served by just taking a good nap.

Have you ever watched people wait for an elevator? When it arrives, a startling number of them will start walking in before the doors are even done opening. Quite often, they stop short as they realize someone else needs to walk off first.

I'm guilty of this myself, occasionally. I always rebuke myself and vow not to do it again, but it's a hard impulse to resist. After all, I called the elevator, and it came. It is here for me.

Except that it's not. The elevator often, or even usually, has other things to do than shuttle me around. It has to shuttle other people around too. People I'll never speak with, to floors I'll never visit! The elevator arrived when it did because it was on the way past anyway, or because someone else had already asked to go there. Sometimes it was just sitting there with nothing to do, waiting to be asked the favor of carrying someone, but often not.

People are like elevators. When someone is doing something that coincides with your goals, it's strongly tempting to assume that you have some shared goal or motivation in common. Or even to assume some sort of good will. The reality is that people have their own reasons. Even if they have literally nothing else in this world, they have their reasons. And it's exceedingly unlikely that they coincide with yours. Maybe they even conflict with yours! In that case, it can be quite risky to assume otherwise.

That doesn't mean that we can't happily cooperate or commiserate and then part ways peaceably, having both benefited from sharing the load or the journey. It just means you'll be happier, and less often surprised or put out, if you keep that perspective in mind. We've all got our own reasons. Even you. And yours are just as invisible to everyone else as theirs are to you.

Update: This post was originally titled "The Annealed Mind", but it turns out that "annealing" is not what I thought it was. What I was thinking of is actually something more like "sintering". I have replaced the words throughout the post and title.

If you want to learn something, take on a new challenge, or just refine your approach to a common challenge, it's best to wipe your slate first. Regardless of your level of knowledge and experience, intentionally bring nothing of your own to the table, so that what's already in your head doesn't drown out subtle information you're not expecting. This is a very simple description of the Zen Buddhist idea called "Beginner's Mind."

What is the opposite of Beginner's Mind? It might be tempting to reverse the analogy and think of a full slate. You bring with you a reference tome of such exhaustive completeness that you feel you barely need to look at the problem before thumbing through it to find the answer. That's certainly evocative of at least one problem with expertise.

I think another illustrative way to consider both of these states is to think of the mind as a landscape, and the wisdom of experience as being constructed on top of it. As with physical buildings, these fixtures need to be maintained: occasionally scoured clean, worn bits replaced, obsolete pieces upgraded, buildings removed, replaced, or added. If this doesn't happen the landscape will subsume the buildings. Vegetation encroaches, the soil erodes here and heaves there. Constructions slide, collapse, or are swallowed up. Over time, even if they are internally functional, on the outside one might mistake them for part of the land, rather than human construction.

This is dangerous. Imagine a mind where assumptions and knowledge and solutions are taken so much for granted that they have been sintered into the surface of the mind. The thinker no longer even recognizes that they created them. They are just there, and true. Part of the substrate.

All learning requires unlearning. But how can you dismantle an idea that no longer recognize is an idea?

Wipe your slate. Be your own mental groundskeeper. However you want to think of it: remember that your experience is just ideas. Ideas are and should be soft and temporary things that grow, and change, and are replaced.

I dislike working alone. This is despite the fact that I'm an introvert and really do appreciate my quiet and focus.

Part of this is that I really enjoy the camaraderie of having peers close at hand. From a personal standpoint, this is better for my mental well being, and my morale regarding the job in general.

The professional downsides of working alone are also significant. A team is a support structure. When you can't bring your A-game, they can compensate. Ironically, a team can also *facilitate* focus. When there are other folks involved, you don't need to be responsible for responding to every concern of the other people and teams you need to coordinate with.

More important than that, though, is feedback. A team keeps you honest, and keeps you moving forward. It's easy to stagnate working alone, only pushing forward when something bugs *you*. But a team is your first customer. You have an obligation and a commitment to do good work every day, because the team needs it. With a team, what you do matters between releases and under the surface, where the customer will never see.

Just a little. You don't have to stay up late. Just commit an empty file. Fix a typo. Write one test. Create a branch.

Do one, small thing to change your state. Lay the next stepping stone in the path. You don't need to finish, as long as what you leave there points the direction you want to go.

With side projects often comes guilt. Many days you're tempted to do nothing because what you have time for won't be "enough". But you don't need to tackle big things every day to make progress. "Enough" velocity is anything that you have time for.

So just do a little, tiny thing. One baby step. Then go to sleep. Take another tomorrow.

Metrics might not seem useful when you are working alone. When you're working alone, you know how you're doing. You have your hands on the work, all the time. Looking back at the day, or the week, you can feel whether you made progress. Looking ahead at your goal, you can feel whether that progress was enough, or if something needs to change.

Now throw a team into the mix. Your teammates are working and you are not touching it. Even if you are the lead, you don't touch all of it. Not if you're doing it right, anyway. And if you're the project manager, well, you might not even be touching all of your own team every day. Your work also involves touching other teams, whose people and work you aren't touching either.

So you start measuring. Story points, features, bugs opened, bugs closed, test count, lines covered, velocity, backlog size, ideal days, person hours, burndown. The numbers start rolling in. You touch them, and you get a feel for things again. Numbers are moving up and down and you can feel whether they're moving in the right direction and fast enough.

But you're still not touching the work. You're touching the metrics: a set of narrow, fuzzy, possibly staged views of certain aspects of the work. You're touching a tool. Tools wear. Tools break. Tools become obsolete. Sometimes, tools just get in the way.

If the metrics are helping you ship, then the tool is doing its job. But the metrics can't tell you how good the metrics are. Never forget, your job is not to deliver the metrics. Your job is to deliver the deliverable. Your job is to ship the product.

If you've ever worked in an office with a kitchenette, you've witnessed it. Most people are too busy to empty the dishwasher, or load it, so the dirty dishes sit in the sink. Or people are too busy to find and add the detergent, so the dirty dishes sit in the dishwasher. But the dishes do get washed--eventually. There's someone who comes by periodically and checks the situation, and then takes care of it.

Sometimes, this is just the most high-strung or passive-aggressive person in the office. And they'll make sure you hear about it. If they're not that, you probably won't hear about it. You'll just be happy to have clean dishes washed by the flatware elves overnight. With the dishwasher always ready to accept your dirty dishes, and the confidence they'll get washed, you might even be coaxed to take your dish and that glass sitting in the sink, and put them in the washer.

If you pay attention you might notice that the elves are a person. And they often happen to be a leader of some sort. Maybe it's the official or unofficial morale officer. The event planner. The recruiter of volunteers. The person who says "let's go out for lunch!" Or maybe it's the boss. Or the owner.

This is a thing that happens in teams. The dishwasher phenomenon is just the physical manifestation. The underlying pattern is that of "servant leadership." That's an interesting phrase. It can be read both ways. A servant leader is a leader who leads by serving the team's needs. Or a servant leader is a team member who, by serving the team's needs, becomes a de facto leader.

There are a host of activities that are necessary to keep a team happy, and their productivity flowing. Maintaining shared physical spaces is one. Maintaining shared digital spaces is another. Filling in and normalizing the project wiki, adding comments to obscure code incantations, removing old cruft, rounding out the test suite, or just your run-of-the-mill refactoring. These activities are what keep a project sane and functional.

As a lead, if no one is doing this stuff, it's your job to start. If you lead by example people will be a lot more willing to follow that example when asked. Maybe you'll even get lucky and some will pick up the slack on their own initiative. As a lowly team member, even if your skilled contributions are humble, you can find a place of value, impact, even respect, by getting the mess out of everyone else's way.

Do you want to make things better? Do you want to lead? Do you want to have an impact? Start with washing the dishes.

If you wait long enough, someone will build that app or service you so desperately wish existed. They will gladly sell you a license or membership, and you can stop wishing.

Why wait? Solve your own problem. Sell the license or membership to those other folks, instead. At minimum you get to stop wishing sooner, since you get to beta test your solution. Probably you also learn a little bit. And at best, you make some money. You can use it to fund your next solution. Or maybe just have a bit more personal security. It's all upside.

I have worked on a number of what I would call database-centric applications. A kind way to put this is that these are applications that take full advantage of the features of their chosen DBMS to implement as much as possible of the system. The goal of this is to maintain a monolithic system as long as possible because one system means fewer boundaries. This means fewer degrees of freedom and fewer opportunities for breakage. It also means less integration and change process overhead.

The premise can be attractive, when you have a homogeneous and overstretched workforce. We need something to happen every 5 minutes, but we don't have anyone who knows how to write a console app or a Windows service or a Linux daemon. Fortunately SQL Server has a job system for running periodic T-SQL tasks, so no need to learn anything or hire anyone.

As someone who is comfortable writing console apps and Windows services, I am decidedly uncomfortable writing periodic tasks as SQL jobs unless the goal is solely to do database-y things like project normalized data into a reporting schema or stage data for an ETL pickup. I said as much to a coworker not too long ago and he challenged me on why I wanted nothing but data in the database, when the tools were capable of so much more. Schema can model relationships, constraints, and invariants. Tasks can be scheduled. Stored procedures can encapsulate implementation details. Triggers can be used for eventing.

I had to think a bit in order to put it in terms that weren't dogmatic. I had to consider why I dislike programming inside the database. Here are some of my reasons:

The languages and libraries are spartan and hard to work with.

While not inevitable, databases are commonly viewed as monolithic from the inside. Subsystem design and responsibility segregation have huge upsides, but are exceedingly rare inside the bubble.

Testing and deployment tooling is clunky and slow where it exists at all.

External controls are generally unavailable. Everything is an admin interaction, or occasionally an exceedingly clunky script in a proprietary language.

I think you'd be hard-pressed to find someone comfortable both in and out of the database who disagrees with most of these, or who couldn't probably add a bullet of their own to the list.

What this all adds up to is that database-centric processes and applications are harder to build, harder to change, and harder to migrate, than the equivalents built outside the database. This is especially true if the change being considered is to migrate logic out of the database engine. Whereas if you started off building outside the database, the biggest hurdle to moving something into the database, say for performance reasons, is whether the crucial features exist at all inside the database bubble.

The universal constant of programming is that change happens. If the tools and the skills are available, the tools that are better supportive of change should be preferred. And that is why I prefer my databases not to multi-task. I want them to store data. I want them store it in ways that are efficient to update and query in necessary ways. And then I want them to get out of the way.

Sometimes I have an idea for a blog post, but it's not a good time to stub it out. Maybe I don't have my notebook, or I just don't have time to do more than jot a placeholder. Sometimes in those cases I will open a new blog entry and put in a title that summarizes the idea. Later I will come back and start writing under that title, trying to retrace my thoughts and produce the post that was waiting to be born.

More often than not in these cases I ramble for several paragraphs and never quite manage to recapture the sentiment that inspired the title. Eventually I close the editor in frustration, feeling like I failed my muse. I feel like the title was the true name of my post, and I have failed to honor it.

This is probably not a healthy or effective way to write.

I don't follow this cycle with code. Often I will run up against a blob of functionality that I know I don't want inline. I have a rough idea of what the responsibility of that blob is and what parameters are required, so I stub things out. I make an interface, give it a function with the expected signature, then continue on using it, knowing I will go back to implement later.

But often when I come back around to flesh out the stub it turns out I was wrong about what exactly it would do, or--more importantly--what context would be required to accomplish it. But in these cases, I don't just keep laboring under the ill-informed constraints I set before. Instead, I refactor. I change the name. I add the parameters I need. I update the tests for the call site, and the code there as well.

In programming we name the thing to represent what it does. We don't build the thing to fit the name. In programming it is not possible to accomplish something without the necessary preconditions, so if they aren't present we adjust course.

Culture is a garden, and your people are gardeners. Every decision, every meeting, every email, every priority, every exception--each is an act of gardening. Every line of code written, or removed. Every test. Every tool. Every deployment. Water this, yank that, prune here, fertilize there. Some idea gets planted or trod down. Some relationship is nurtured or ignored.

You can't create culture, or design it, or decree it. Even as a leader or manager, you can only tend your plot. Occasionally, you can add or remove a gardener, and this can have a big impact. But in the end the culture you grow depends fully and only on what gets planted and nurtured on a daily basis, and what gets stepped on or neglected.

A thing I have learned over the past couple of years is that it doesn't matter how cool the technical problems are, or how awesome your solutions and processes are, if the business problems and the people problems aren't being addressed. The best tech, under genius orchestration, produces a mere whimper in the dark if the people can't rally behind it or the business can't focus and direct it.

I used to look a bit askance at the axiom that "ideas are cheap, execution is everything" until I realized just how much is encompassed in the term "execution". I always just considered technical execution. As if adding a qualifier to a word ever did anything more than narrow and reduce it. But no, "execution" includes product strategy, marketing, organization, interpersonal dynamics, and much more. There are so many problems in those areas that have both deep and broad impact on the success of the enterprise that the core idea, no matter how rare and genius, pales in comparison.

I used to take the axiom personally, as a repudiation. I can execute. I have the chops. But I'm not an idea man. So where are all these ideas just waiting for me to run off with them? For the axiom to be true I must either be dumb or incompetent. But that completely misses the point. Good ideas aren't necessarily plentiful or easy to produce. But they cost nothing. Whereas execution....

There is a new permanent page here on my website for my current career objective. This started out as a long blurb that used to be crammed into my resume page along with what is now my value proposition, but it deserves its own place. All the parts are much cleaner for it, and it allows the objective to breathe as much as it needs to. The other bits are mostly the same, but the objective has also changed, and I intend to keep it current as time goes on.

I was inspired by a number of things to make this change to a clear, strong, forward-looking statement of intent and aspiration. Recent events, the wisdom my friend @veryfancy links to on Twitter and blogs about, the evolution of my wife's career, a long following of @rands (In Repose), and a few verygoodbooks I've read lately. Change can come at any time, and when it does I want to be ready to capitalize on it and ride the wave forward rather than be swept up in the current and dropped off wherever it peters out.

In the long term, technical and business strategy is the problem space I want to get to. And I know that to have the kind of impact I want to have at that level, I need facility in the problem space of people, and teams, and projects. So I want to make sure my next step adds a component in that dimension to my career vector... Hrm. As you can see, I'll always be an engineer at heart. Only, I have realized that I also want to be more than an engineer.

A significant part of maturing as a professional is learning to recognize the right tool for a particular type of job. As a programmer this skill may manifest when choosing between alternative solutions at many different levels of abstraction and granularity.

Some examples include decisions between:

a loop versus an iterator block

a Windows service versus an scheduled task

a message queue versus a web service

The next step of professional maturity requires recognizing that all of the decisions like those above have something in common. They are all custom software solutions. This means that there is another decision which has already been made. This is the decision to use a custom software solution.

Crucial to the process of gaining more trust, responsibility, and impact in your job is developing the skill of recognizing whether the solutions being considered are of the right kind. This usually involves asking a lot of "whys." In the scene below, Alice is a development lead and Bob is the IT director she reports to.

Alice: Why are we splitting this service into two separate services?Bob: Because it's memory intensive and has been bogging down the rest of the process.Alice: Can we add RAM to the VM?Bob: Not without taking it from other VMs that can't spare it.Alice: What about the physical hardware?Bob: We have room to expand.Alice: Can we add RAM to the server, and give it to the VM?Bob: We can do that once more with this hardware, but if we run out of headroom again, we'll need to procure hardware, and that won't be cheap.... A RAM upgrade will definitely be cheaper than the engineering effort to split the process up. This time. But if we run out of headroom again, the next upgrade will be much more expensive.Alice: Ok. Then rather than split the service now, we'll do an effort estimate so we can do a real cost comparison next time around.

It can be tough to cultivate the discipline Alice exhibits in this scenario. Alice wants to be a problem solver, and is eager take on more responsibility rather than waving it away. There are a lot of incentives to assume that important analysis has already been done and it's above your pay grade to worry about it. But for that exact reason, taking care in these kinds of situations can have big impact and visibility to the broader business.

What this all boils down to is that to take the next step in professional maturity, you need to consider a broader context. Before you sit down to decide which of your tools is the right one for the job, make sure you're even digging in the right toolbox.

Sometimes while coding I have an idea of some small construction I want to try that I'm uncertain will work. I could fairly easily determine whether it will work by writing a test and running it, but it's just so small and simple that even that seems like overkill. Often, I just want to know if something will compile, and what the type system will do with it.

I just want to write a little bit of code, run it immediately, see the result, and move on, possibly forgetting about it. I need a REPL. Depending on your primary programming language, you may be familiar with this already. But if you are a C# developer, especially one without a long history in development, this might be new to you.

The term REPL is an acronym that is pronounced like the word "ripple," but with an "E" instead of an "I". The acronym stands for Read, Evaluate, and Print Loop. This is a small app that reads a statement of code, evaluates (or executes) it, and prints the result. It then repeats that process with the next statement or waits for the user to enter another one.

If you work with JavaScript, you might recognize the developer console from your favorite browser as a JavaScript REPL. With node.js, the application that executes programs is itself a REPL, if you run it without passing a starting point JS file. The same goes for Ruby, Python, and a great deal many other modern languages.

With C# and VB.NET, Visual Studio offers a special window called the "Immediate Window" which operates as a REPL while debugging a program. It has access to things in the scope of the breakpoint, and you can also define variables and build up complicated expressions and statements on the fly. Unlike the other REPLs I've listed, Visual Studio's Immediate window has historically been constrained in what it will execute. For example, it won't evaluate anything that involves an anonymous delegate, or lambda. Unfortunately for me, it seems that nearly every time I want a REPL, I'm experimenting with lambdas in some way.

Fear not. A while back Glenn Block, while he was working at Microsoft, started an OSS project called ScriptCS to provide "the missing REPL" for C#. It, too, started off heavily constrained. But after many iterations and a great deal of work, today it's a darn useful tool in a couple crucial ways. Not only is it a full-fledged REPL that has access to the entire C# language and all of the CLR, but it's also an honest-to-goodness scripting system. It will allow you to run C# files as scripts from the command line without pre-building them into assemblies. It has all the convenience of node, ruby, python, or whatever other scripting language you might be familiar with. They accomplished this by using of Roslyn, the .NET "compiler as a service" from Microsoft which will also underlie new versions of Visual Studio.

If you're working with C# on a daily basis, I highly recommend you go grab and install ScriptCS. It is distributed via a package manager called Chocolatey right now, and will hopefully eventually be available via OneGet. (Think NuGet for apps.) I use it at least once per week in its REPL capacity, and I anticipate it coming in handy for build and deployment automation as a script runner. It's great tech. And if you use it and like it, make sure you thank Glenn and the other folks who worked hard to build it.

I've been a perfectionist for a long time. I've been a parent for far less time. In the overlap, what I have felt like is mostly a pile of inadequacy and failure. I know this isn't really the case. But I definitely feel like I'm not meeting my own expectations for my performance either as a parent or in my profession.

For most of my life, I would hedge my failures by dumping extreme amounts of time and effort into them. If I stayed up all night embellishing my project, hopefully the flaws would be overshadowed by how hard I had worked. Hopefully any criticism of what I got wrong would be balanced against praise for how far above and beyond I had gone. I did my best, which is surely the most anyone could ask. Hopefully the equation would come out with me feeling more satisfaction than failure.

As a normal human adult who has more obligations than time, this drive--this instinct--has not exactly served me well. It skews priorities, both within the effort, and with other obligations. And it's not sustainable. Whether it's my health, or my relationships, or my job performance, something gives, usually sooner than I expect. So that's just another way I'm inadequate. Which drives my perfectionism. The cycle continues.

I have very young daughters, and am starting to see the first inklings of how they handle failure. They are at the stage still where they can become frustrated to the point of tantrum when they aren't able to succeed at something. But this is strictly because at their age they also haven't learned how to give up. Their best is to literally try, and try, and try, and try, until I step in and drag them away screaming. At which point, I can certainly say, "it's okay, you did your best." But will it encourage them to continue to do their best, if it equates to ending heaving and sobbing with the knowledge that they were insufficient to their ambitions?

I find myself considering how I will approach with them the topics of failure and success, effort and perseverance, pride and satisfaction. Surely whatever I tell them, I'd better believe it. And even better, I should model it, because example is strong where advice is weak. So what do I really believe about these things?

There is no learning without failure. I must embrace failure if I want to improve at anything. Failing feels really bad, though, so I must learn how to salvage satisfaction from failure. Not accomplishing what I set out to do doesn't mean I can't be proud of what I did. "Doing my best" does not require destroying myself and my other obligations in sacrifice. Whatever I'm setting myself to do is not all I have to do. I have to be a parent. I have to be a husband. I have to be a son. I have to be a friend, a neighbor, an employee, a leader, a follower.

Doing my best means that I spent my time wisely, and appropriately to the need. I focused on my task and my goal, for the time that I worked at it. Where I lacked certainty, I tried new things. I was reflective of the outcomes. I learned. I used what I had and gave what I could, without stealing from my other obligations.

And maybe most importantly, doing my best doesn't mean that no one can fault me. It just means that I laid a foundation to do better next time.